Beginning, Section II, Next Section
Chapter 8
Her mind, however, soon wandered to more pleasant matters, and she thought of her conversation with the extremely personable man she had encountered the previous evening. It had been restricted to relatively neutral matters such as politics, but she had been gratified to find her companion a witty conversationalist. The remarkable coincidence of their views on almost every particular she found amusing and somewhat flattering; he was obviously a careful reader of her columns, but she wondered whether she would not have put more faith in a more candid and forthright opinion. Still, he was certainly the most attractive prospect who had come her way in quite a while, and she knew that she did need to start thinking about a social life. Undoubtedly, a closer acquaintance would elicit a more honest opinion from her new friend; for now, his flattery would be quite satisfying.
They had arranged to meet for lunch the following afternoon, and she looked forward to the engagement. Reaching for her purse, she pulled out the card he had offered her the previous night, which she had not had a chance to scrutinize yet, and examined it. George Wikham. The name certainly had something of a ring to it. He had told her last night that he was a lobbyist at the Hill, and she saw now that he worked for Phillip Morris. A tobacco company -- she would not have guessed it from the opinions he had expressed. She sighed; the most attractive man who had shown an interest in her was employed by a tobacco company. She wondered whether he was trying to soften her stance, about which she had been quite explicit. Momentarily, she considered canceling the next day, but she decided that he deserved a chance, despite his unfortunate employment. As long as his interest in her was personal, it was possible that it could still work out, and if it proved to be simply professional, she would have little trouble in cutting him off.
The phone rang, interrupting her reverie, and picking it up, she recognized Jane's voice at the other end.
"Lizzy, you left so early this morning that I didn't get a chance to talk to you. Anyway, I just wanted to tell you that I'm meeting Charles for dinner tonight, so you're on your own."
"Finally, the big date! When do I get to meet your young man, Jane?"
"Lizzy, will you stop it? I don't know if this is even a date. It's his sister's wedding anniversary, and he invited me to join them. It's supposed to be a little gathering."
"He's introducing you to the family? That's what I call fast work! Don't you get to have your representatives around?"
"Lizzy!" came the warning from the other end, and she giggled.
"You just go and have some fun, dearest. But don't stay out too late, and be sure to wear something warm. We wouldn't want you getting sick now, would we?" Lizzy said, doing a fine imitation of their mother.
"I've had enough of your clowning around, young lady!" said Jane, continuing in the same vein.
The two sisters burst out laughing, and after exchanging a few more admonishments, Jane rang off.
As she left work that evening, Elizabeth felt a little restless, and extremely disinclined to go back to an empty apartment. She decided instead to go do her duty by her parents, and headed out to the suburbs, or the boonies, as she jokingly liked to call them in comparison to her own down-town apartment. She grabbed a copy of the Post to read on the subway, and took the Orange line train out to Vienna.
Fitzwilliam Darcy had spent the day down town at the National Archives, researching some records on the Pemberley estate as part of his restoration project. As the Archives closed for the day, he remembered that he was engaged to dine at the Hursts that night. He sighed; he had been looking forward to a quiet evening, and a celebration at the Hursts would be unfailingly rambunctious. Moreover, although he was always glad to see Charles, Caroline would undoubtedly be there as well, and at the present moment he could have done without her intrusive interrogation. Still, he had committed to attend, and he could not back out now.
He headed for I-66, passing by the Kennedy Center, which was still wrapped up like a Christmas present, on the entrance ramp. He crossed the bridge into Virginia, and a small distance down the road, his eye was drawn to the metro, which had just emerged from underground, and would follow the interstate until Vienna, the terminus on this line. The brightly lit interior of the train made its occupants visible from the road, and Darcy thought he spotted Elizabeth Bennet inside, engrossed in a newspaper. He turned to the road in dismay; was he to be haunted by her thus? Because of the rush hour congestion, he had fallen behind the train, and to keep his mind of Elizabeth, he turned on the radio, which was still tuned on 101 Rock. Once again, it was Sting, or more accurately, The Police they were airing, and recognizing one of his favourite numbers, Darcy lent his own voice to the lyrics.
"Every breath you take,
Every move you make,
Every bond you break,
Every step you take
I'll be watching you."
Automatically, his eyes reverted towards the train. One of its stops had allowed him to catch up, and traffic had lightened to the point that it was traveling at a speed identical to that of the train. He had been right; it was her. She had put aside the paper, and was sitting back.
"Every single day,
Every word you say,
Every game you play,
Every night you stay
I'll be watching you."
He studied her profile in the distance, admiring its elegant lines. It amazed him to recall that her beauty had hardly made an impression on him when they had first met. He had then dismissed her as an ordinarily pretty teenager; now he could not think of features he admired more. With a distinct effort, he turned back to the road to find that he was practically tail-gating the vehicle ahead of him. He fell back to a more reasonable distance, and then found that he was changing lanes so that he could keep Elizabeth in sight.
"O, can't you see?
You belong to me.
How my poor heart aches,
With every step you take."
As the train pulled into the next station, Darcy was forced to leave it behind. He promised himself that he would find another opportunity to meet her and court her. It would not do for him to have to steal glances at her in this fashion; he wanted the legitimate right to share her company.
"Every move you make,
Every vow you break,
Every smile you fake,
Every claim you stake
I'll be watching you."
He wondered how he would contrive another meeting. He knew so little about her socially, and he could hardly decide to drop in on her at work. Charles had said that he would be bringing her sister to the party tonight, and he wondered whether she would be able to enlighten him. As his thoughts turned to Jane and Charles, he wondered whether he should warn his friend to take matters a little more slowly. He had had lunch with the pair again, and he was beginning to warm towards her, but while Charles was well on his way to being head over heels in love, Jane seemed to regard him as little more than a good friend. Of course, it might be that he was mistaken, and ordinarily, he would have been quite content to allow affairs to take their own course, but as matters stood, he felt justified in being a little concerned. As he had already mentioned to his friend, Jane might feel unduly pressured because of her position as essentially a subordinate to Bingley. Under the circumstances, he could not help feeling that the wisest plan might be for Charles to wait until Jane had completed her studies and found an independent position before contemplating a relationship with her.
"Since you've gone, I've been lost without a trace,
I dream at night; I can only see your face.
I look around but it's you I can't replace,
I feel so cold and I long for your embrace.
I keep crying baby, baby, please."
The much of the traffic had dispersed at this point, and Darcy allowed his vehicle to speed up well over the limit, which was an extremely restrictive 55 mph. He tapped his forefinger on the rim of the steering wheel, in time to the music, and though he was still singing along, almost mechanically, he was too distracted by his musings to attend to the lyrics any further.
Elizabeth got off the metro, walked the relatively short distance to her parents' townhouse. From her father, she received a warm hug and the ironic observation that despite the return of the prodigal, the fatted calf would not be sacrificed. Elizabeth smiled sympathetically, remembering that her mother's cooking had never compared favorably to Jane's or her own. Katy and Lydia greeted her with extravagant professions of how sorely she had been missed. Elizabeth was somewhat skeptical; her youngest sisters had always been self-absorbed to an extreme, and thought of little that was not directly before them. Then she went to the kitchen, where her mother, though pleased to see her, pretended to take umbrage and remarked that celebrated reporters could hardly be expected to return their mother's calls. Elizabeth rolled her eyes; she was well used to her mother's moods. Her sister Mary, who was also helping in the kitchen, greeted her only with a cold sniff in her general direction; she had never forgiven her eldest two sisters for having been able to support themselves through college at prestigious institutions, a goal she had striven towards but failed to accomplish. She was currently taking classes at the Northern Virginia Community College, and had to confront her mother's daily admonishments not to waste her time and to find herself a well paying job at a mall store like her two youngest sisters.
Mary was induced to lay an additional place at the table, and Elizabeth sat down to dinner with the family. Mrs. Bennet had by now laid aside her posture of indifference, and having learnt the reason why Elizabeth had come without her sister, eagerly grilled her as to Jane's dinner companion. Having failed to accomplish most of her own ambitions, she tried now to live through her daughters. Her own ambitions, however, had for the most part involved wealth acquired through matrimony, and since this was what she projected on to her daughters, her interrogation always made Elizabeth impatient. Lydia and Katy had a few questions of their own, but deciding that a college professor could have few charms in comparison with the modish youths who were their own companions, turned away from the conversation. Mary, to whom no prospect could be more appealing, consoled herself with various philosophical reflections that she knew from experience would be ill-received at the dinner table. Mr. Bennet listened contentedly; he was amused by his wife's fervent inquiries, and he was glad that his eldest daughter appeared to have found so congenial a young man, but more than that he was happy simply to see his second daughter again.
The "little gathering" at the Hursts turned out to be a massive affair, catered on an extensive scale. Hurst was a rather innocuous man whose major accomplishment had been to invest the money he had inherited into a rapidly expanding high-tech firm based in Reston; his wife, Louisa, was an aspiring socialite whose ambition was to see her husband on Capitol Hill, or failing that, at least in Richmond. Her parties were a means to this end, and Darcy saw more than a few familiar faces from his days in Congress, as well as several prominent contributors, mainly from Republican ranks. There were also some members of the press corps, starting of course with Caroline, who was family. He was fairly confident that Elizabeth would not have been invited; Louisa was looking for favorable reports of her party in the papers, and even if Elizabeth were to write about such a gathering, her ideological stance would make her opinions unpalatable.
Having paid his compliments to his hosts, he located Bingley, who was chatting quietly with Jane in a corner of the room. Darcy went up and joined them, not particularly eager to socialize with any of the other invitees, and fearing an ambush from Caroline, who would certainly pounce on him and attempt to coax him into approaching the conveniently gathered Republicans. They were both happy to see him, although they were preparing to take their leave. Darcy was a little amused to see how uncomfortable his friend, who could be unfailingly sociable in other circumstances, was at such a gathering. He had often teased Bingley for choosing the academia, which seemed an improbably stodgy profession for so high-spirited an individual, but when thrown in the company of such pretentious sophisticates, his theoretical bent made itself plainly evident. Bingley's good nature seemed almost overcome, and he was quite vexed at finding himself at another such bash after Louisa had expressly promised him that she would keep this party a small family affair.
Darcy had looked to make his escape with them as well, but Caroline was not to be evaded. Proprietarily claiming his arm, she started on a round of introductions with the dignitaries there assembled. He found an unlikely ally in Louisa, who was concerned that the former representative might upstage her own husband, and claimed her celebrity sister to further his political prospects rather than Darcy's. Free from Caroline's grasp, Darcy wanted to leave the party in the next few minutes before she was able to reclaim him. He could not, however, evade one particularly persuasive young lady, who wanted him to lend his persona to the lobbying firm she was employed by. Arranging to meet her for lunch the following day, he hastily offered his congratulations to the Hursts once again, and beat a strategic retreat while Caroline was well away from him.
Chapter 9
As Darcy stepped out of the restaurant where he had met Mary King for lunch, he was mentally reviewing the offer she had made him. Miss King was a lobbyist employed by one of Washington's most prominent firms, and he had worked with her quite closely while he had been in the House. She dealt primarily with Anti-tobacco legislation, and brought to her work all the fervor of idealism combined with a keen sense for the practicalities involved in influencing the opinions of the public at large, and ultimately, of the legislators. Since Darcy had handled several pioneering class action suits against the large tobacco consortiums as a lawyer, she had come to him early in his political career as a possible ally, and with her help, he had introduced to the house ground-breaking legislation that had prevented tobacco companies from targeting the youth. Now that he was no longer in office, she had approached him with an offer to join her firm. Of course, revolving-door laws would not permit him to accept any positions for some time yet, but there were other considerations that prevented him from accepting without careful thought.
Despite his record, Darcy was by no means rabidly anti-tobacco. Indeed, he was honest enough to admit that as the owner of a plantation that still produced a small crop of tobacco every year, he would be financially affected if smoking were to become illegal. Rather, he held a nuanced opinion that had the disadvantage of conforming to neither of the accepted schools of thought politically. He upheld it as an individual right, and denounced it in so far as it infringed upon the rights of others. The law-suits he had handled had dealt with the damaging medical information withheld by the companies from their customers, and he had never attempted to establish that his clients had been in any way coerced, simply that they had been kept in ignorance of the possible side-effects of smoking. And the bill he had championed in the house attempted to clamp down on the companies' attempts to lure young customers into addiction before they were mature enough to make an informed choice. And he did not approve of the large consortiums that had grown around the industry that could exert market power on citizens, and influence legislation significantly through lobbying and sizable contributions.
In his preoccupation, Darcy had made his way to his car, a sporty MG, and had been pulling out of his parking space into the crowded street, when his train of thought was rudely interrupted by a sharp honk. He looked up to see that he had nearly run into the vehicle that was waiting for the space he was vacating, and was only narrowly able to avert a collision. He left the spot, and pulled over, expecting the driver of the other car, a classic American chrome-bumpered gas-guzzler, to come over, intending to take full responsibility, and wondering whether this would mean another hike in his insurance premiums. As the car pulled into the spot, he noticed that it looked rather familiar, and when the driver stepped out, he realized why. His features tightened involuntarily as Wikham glanced in his direction and then turned away and walked up to Elizabeth Bennet, who was waiting for him outside the restaurant. Darcy had not seen her earlier; he wondered when she had arrived. She was staring curiously at him, and he held her gaze for a moment until she turned to her companion, but under the circumstances, he did not feel up to any other greeting. He revved his engine and left in a burst of speed that mirrored, though it could not match, the fury that had surged up within him at the sight of the woman he most admired conversing convivially with a man whom he most despised.
Elizabeth, who had witnessed the near-collision, was more that a little startled to recognize both principals involved, but her surprise in seeing the avoided confrontation was great indeed. Wikham, as he came up to her, seemed entirely unruffled, and did not mention the incident; she could not, however, prevent herself from glancing over at the MG, and when she found Darcy staring at her, she half-expected him to come up to her. He did not; instead, he tore his eyes away after a few seconds and left in something of a huff. Turning back to Wikham, she smiled, and they headed into the restaurant together.
Her companion was every bit as entertaining as she remembered him from the previous evening, and she could not help admire his accomplished line of small talk. And Elizabeth was relieved to discover that he did not even mention Phillip Morris; in fact, he went out of his way to keep business out of the conversation. But he could not engage her interest entirely while he skirted his way around what was foremost in her mind. It was over coffee that he brought up the subject.
"I'm sure you didn't miss my little run-in with Fitz Darcy a little earlier?"
"Are you kidding? It's been on my mind all afternoon. What was that about? I would have yelled his brains out if he'd pulled a stunt like that on me!"
"No harm done. I came out of it in one piece and so did my car."
"But it was a close shave. And it would have been a shame, with that car."
"She is a beauty, isn't she? Senator Darcy always told me I took good care of her. There's not many you'd find in such good shape."
"You knew Senator Darcy?"
"He was my godfather. My father used to be his campaign manager. Fitz and I played together as children; we used to monkey around with all the cars in the garage. And we worked together on the campaigns, handing out fliers and things. Senator Darcy put me through college at William and Mary."
"But Fitz and you aren't very close anymore, obviously."
"That's a bit of an understatement. I don't know what happened; he picked up some kind of attitude at Yale and dropped all his old friends. And he got heavily into the whole drinking thing -- you know what those north-east schools are like."
"Yeah, I went to Wellesley."
"Sorry, I didn't mean anything personal."
"Don't worry about it. I know what you mean. I would never have guessed it of Fitz, I mean, Mr. Darcy, though."
"You're telling me? I'd known him all my life! Of course, he was very careful that nothing got back to Senator Darcy. Then, his senior year, over Christmas break, he got picked up with a hooker in DC. He called me frantically down to the station to bail him out, and I discovered that he'd given my name. That was the year Senator Darcy was running for President, and none of us wanted anything of this sort reflecting back on him, so I had to let it drop. But I didn't have that kind of money, obviously, so I had to tell my father. He didn't tell the Senator, but Darcy was furious that I had called him. The charges were dropped, but obviously, the arrest went into my record."
"That's appalling!"
"Oh, there's more. Senator Darcy, Mrs. Darcy, and my father all died later that year in a car crash during the campaign. And the senator had always let it be understood that he would have continued to fund my education if I had wanted to go to grad school. He had intended that Fitz and I should both go to law school at UVa. But with the arrest on my record, I couldn't get in. Of course, if a Darcy had intervened, it would have been a different matter. But when I asked Fitz, he refused point-blank to have anything to do with it."
"Good God! What happened after that?"
"Not very much. I was left to my own devices. I got this job, and here I am."
"I would be a lot more bitter in your position."
"What's the point? You don't have to feel sorry for me. I always wanted to do something in politics, and that much, at least, has happened. And I do have some prospects, you know. I've been talking to some very prominent lobbying firms. Nothing on paper yet, but the wheels are in motion."
"I had no idea. How can you see him up there, presenting himself as the model of respectability? He's such a hypocrite!"
"Fitz is not all bad, you know. He's a doting brother -- Georgiana was very young when their parents died. To people he considers his peers, he can be quite pleasant, and for that matter, he's a pretty good grass-roots campaigner too. People trust him, and for good reason, because he does take his job very seriously. Or at least, he did. I wonder what happened to make him quit."
"I'd imagine his sins caught up with him. How can he live with himself?"
"Have you ever met Georgie?"
"Miss Darcy? Is she like him?"
"She was a sweet kid. I saw her a lot even after Fitz had told me off. I taught her how to drive, you know. But now she's cut me off too. I guess he finally got to her."
"George, I don't know what to say! Why haven't you exposed Darcy for the man he is?"
"I respect his father's memory too much, Liz. I can't say I enjoyed seeing him in office, but now I'm more than happy letting him be."
As Elizabeth left the restaurant and headed back to work, she was unusually thoughtful. She had no cause to doubt George's story; the facts as he had presented them seemed plausible, and she could hardly doubt his sincerity. And she felt powerless, knowing that she could not act upon her knowledge -- under no circumstances would she betray George's confidence publicly.
Wikham, on the other hand, was more than usually light-hearted. For a reputedly shrewd journalist, Elizabeth had bought his story hook, line, and sinker. He had no doubt that he would be seeing it in print within a day or two. She wouldn't be able to keep a story this good under wraps, and then he'd lie low and watch the fun.
Chapter 10
Author's Note: I did the research for this section on www.washingtonpost.com. I can't be absolutely sure, but if the discussion is anachronistic, it's only off by about a month or so.
Elizabeth stared at her heavily made-up face in the illuminated mirror facing her, and tried to calm herself as stage fright began to engulf her. She had agreed her first TV appearance readily, flattered at the opportunity, and rather curious to see how she would come off as a talking head. All through the flight to L.A. she had been perfectly at ease, and while they had prepped her on what to expect, they had assured her that she would be fine. But now, watching Bill Maher's opening monologue, and knowing that in a few minutes she would be summoned on air, she was inexplicably jittery. She took a sip of water and tried to concentrate on Maher's jokes, but her sense of humor seemed to have deserted her. A new panic descended upon her -- what if she should degenerate into some kind of pathetic bore on live TV?
All too soon, Maher started calling his guests out. Elizabeth did not know who else would be there; she had deliberately chosen not to ask, preferring to be surprised. She did know the basic format of Politically Incorrect; in his four guests, Maher tried to have some combination of liberals, conservatives, and random "wildcards," generally from the entertainment industry, who could go either way.
She groaned as Caroline Bingley strolled on to the set in a leisurely manner, and was introduced to the audience. She might have guessed at her presence from the fact that Professor Bingley was with Jane in the live audience, but she had preferred to insinuate that he had come along simply for the company. Not that she thought she was far wrong with that assessment; from what Jane had been saying, it was becoming increasingly obvious that she would soon admit to something more than friendship.
The next guest to be introduced was Kathie Lee Gifford. Elizabeth was disappointed; it had always been her considered opinion that Mrs. Gifford's co-host, Regis, was responsible for any success their show might have had, and the recent scandals involving Walmart and sweat-shops had done nothing to improve her opinion of Kathie Lee.
Then it was Elizabeth's turn, and taking a deep breath, she walked up to Maher, hoping not to embarrass herself. Maher's disarming manner put her at ease, and she found herself chattering vivaciously, if a bit excessively. It wasn't until the next guest was introduced that she found herself momentarily at a loss for words. Suddenly, the glare of the countless lights suspended from the ceiling hit her in full force, and she became conscious of the cameras and the live audience.
Fitzwilliam Darcy, who had the advantage of prior knowledge, was the more collected of the two. He couldn't keep his eyes off Elizabeth, but that was a handicap he had anticipated, and it was far more disconcerting to her than to him. Fortunately for her, Maher cut to a commercial break, and Elizabeth had the opportunity to collect her thoughts, and prepare for the upcoming ordeal. She studiously practiced avoiding Darcy's eyes, and rationalized to herself that she had not been the one who had earned his censure. By the time they came back on air, she was quite confident that she would be able to handle herself aptly under the circumstances.
Maher's custom was to get the ball rolling by choosing the topic of discussion, and then allow the guests to interact, without intervening unless things got too boisterous. Today, he opened with the subject of the budget proposals for the year.
"So what's the deal here? Congress and the President are grid-locking on the budget again. The President doesn't want to enforce caps on Social Security and Medicare; the Republicans are still crying for tax cuts. How is anything ever going to get done in Washington at this rate?"
"Bill, I think you're right. Nothing is ever getting done in Washington, and I think it's because people are always getting distracted by the tidbits the press keeps digging up on celebrities. If politicians felt that they were actually responsible to the people, a lot more would get done," said Kathie Lee, looking for any opening which would allow her to convert this show into another public forum for her to apologize to the poor exploited sweat-shop workers who certainly didn't watch network television. She would have continued on that theme, when Caroline, who had conveniently shelved her agenda to run footage of the exploited children, and had no desire to have that fact dredged up, reverted to the issue at hand.
"Actually, Bill, I don't know how you can blame the Republicans on this one. We do have a perfectly good proposal that will allow the President to keep his little agenda afloat without sacrificing the interests of our electorate. The CPI has been overstated for years, and if it were brought down to a reasonable value, it would free up billions of dollars that will be wasted on COLAs for Social Security recipients. As far as I'm concerned, I think they should be made to return all the extra money they've been getting for all these years. Of course, I'm sure Ms. Bennet will disagree with me here. Ms. Bennet is a great humanitarian, but I'm only human, and when people are robbing the government blind, I call it what it is," Caroline piped in.
"We have to be careful, Caroline, before reaching snap judgments. You and I have never known such hardship..." started Kathie Lee again. This time, it was Elizabeth who cut her off.
"Ms. Bingley gives me too much credit. I'm not a great humanitarian -- I don't think it requires a great act of virtue to sympathize with people of straitened means when they are compelled to return money that they were told to rightfully consider their own. Now, as far as the other part of Ms. Bingley's assertion, I don't believe that I have ever shirked from pointing out when the government was being robbed blind. I think you will find that my record on Capital Gains cuts has been quite consistent."
Darcy smiled, seeing how neatly Elizabeth had turned Caroline's words around. Caroline, who caught the smile, immediately enlisted Darcy on her own side.
"Don't go bringing capital gains taxes into this. How you go about defending the government's right to confiscate money legitimately earned is something I cannot pretend to understand. My point is that there is a plan that all sensible people can agree on, if they don't let rabid partisanism get in the way. I'm sure Fitz will agree with me -- he doesn't have any time for this bleeding-heart liberal grandstanding."
"I do think it's a good idea to look into adjusting the CPI, if it is overstated," Darcy said, slowly.
"It's beyond me how all of you people think that this is some kind of magic solution to keep people happy and balance the budget. There is no clear-cut evidence to show that the CPI is overstated; it hasn't even been impartially evaluated yet. But somehow you have no problem saying that that's how it's going to end up, that all this extra money will turn up. These people depend upon their COLAs; they don't have that much else. I think we owe it to them not to make it a political issue, because they will never get a fair deal any other way!" Elizabeth stated, impassionedly. In her mind, she had identified the faceless multitudes with Wikham, and was glad to have found a forum where she could fight his battle without betraying his trust.
"Ms. Bennet, you persist in deliberately misunderstanding me. I did not imply that there is any certainty that money is being overspent on COLAs, only that any possibility of overexpenditure on any front should be investigated."
"Okay, so let me try and get this straight. You think that an 'independent' body should be appointed to examine the methodology by which the CPI is generated?"
"Certainly."
"But, with the Republicans controlling both Houses, isn't it likely that the appointed body would be biased?"
"I suppose that's possible."
"And, as a result of the deliberations, if the CPI is adjusted to an extent that it underrepresents the actual rate of inflation, and as a result, the COLAs are in fact inadequate, what would be your response?"
"I think a bias on either side is unfortunate. I would like the CPI to be as accurate as possible, but I think we must all concede that perfect information is something we can never count on."
"So you're going to just sit on the fence?"
"No, I will admit that I think a conservative estimate is preferable to a generous one, because at the very least it allows the government some flexibility."
"And what about the people caught between the numbers and these fine words? What about the real hardships involved?"
Kathie Lee, who had been scared away by the informed manner in which the others were throwing about what was to her alphabet soup, saw another opportunity to intrude.
"Yes, exactly, it is the little people we must worry about..."
This time, it was Fitz who took his turn at interrupting her.
"I think you were arguing for fairness, Ms. Bennet, not charity. I can agree with you on the former but not the latter; charity has to be a personal choice, for both parties involved. But may I ask to what these questions tend?"
"I'm just trying to understand your point of view."
Realizing that matters had come to something of an impasse on this particular subject, Maher cut to a commercial. Darcy turned to Elizabeth once again and said, "May I ask, Ms. Bennet, that you refrain from attempting to illustrate my point of view from isolated examples. I don't think the project will reflect well on either one of us."
"I don't see how else I'm supposed to do it. I hear such contradictory things that I'm forced to figure things out one by one."
"In that case, I won't try and stop you."
When they came back on air, Maher introduced a new subject. Eventually, Mrs. Gifford did find an opportunity to make her apologies, and was even able to mention her own children. Darcy, despite his lapse into irritability, could not but forgive Elizabeth for her pointed interrogation, but he was unable to engage her attention for the remainder of the evening. Elizabeth did not allow herself to be drawn into debate; she knew she was not succeeding in maintaining the requisite emotional distance. But she channeled her resentment into Wikham's cause, unwilling to allow her own feelings into the equation.
As Conan O'Brien cut to a commercial, Wikham started flicking channels at random, and, seeing Darcy and Elizabeth at loggerheads on Politically Incorrect, he stopped to watch. Amusing as it was to see her snapping at him, he could not help feeling frustrated. How stupid was this woman? He didn't want her fighting his battle for him in proxy, or at least, not in the way she was doing it. When he had given her his story, he had expected to see it in front pages within the next day or two, but he was beginning to realize that she was going to maintain her confidentiality. Elizabeth Bennet's sympathy was hardly what he needed; he wanted to see Fitz Darcy publicly held up to scorn. Oh, well, at least he knew that Elizabeth was on his side. She had called him several times since their lunch date, and she had been extremely supportive. It was never a bad thing to have a tame press hound; he knew he'd be able to put her to good use somehow. He smiled as he saw the indignation on Elizabeth's face as she ripped Darcy to shreds, and then, suddenly bored, he started flicking through the various channels once again.
Author's Note:
CPI -- Consumer Price Index.
COLA -- Cost of Living Allowance.
Chapter 11
As Elizabeth stepped off the set and headed to where her family was sitting in the audience, she saw a gentleman in animated conversation with her mother. When he noticed Elizabeth's approach, he turned towards her, and started gushing enthusiastically.
"Ms. Bennet, allow me to congratulate you on a fine performance. One might almost assume that you were formally trained in broadcasting!"
Amused as she was by his somewhat grudging compliment and the manner in which he had bestowed it upon her, she did not quite know how she was expected to respond. Fortunately, her mother intervened, clarifying the situation.
"Lizzy, this is Mr. Collins. You do remember Great Uncle Joe, don't you? Billy here is his grandson. He happened to have a seat right next to ours. Isn't it a most amazing coincidence? One might almost call it fate. Billy, this is Elizabeth, my second daughter."
"I'm happy to make your acquaintance, Mr. Collins."
"Please, call me Billy. And if I might presume to call you Liz? After all, we are cousins, you know."
"Sure, uh.. Billy."
"Billy's in television himself, Lizzy. Isn't that wonderful?"
Billy simpered at this description of himself, and elaborated on Mrs. Bennet's comments.
"You see, Liz," and here he paused to smirk at her momentarily before continuing, "I produce documentaries for the History Channel; I've just been promoted, actually; I used to be an editor; and I'll be taking a team down to Northern Virginia shortly...."
Elizabeth glanced around, looking for any avenue that would allow her to escape the ambush by her mother and cousin. She could see what was coming, of course. Her mother was firmly of the opinion that her daughters were too beautiful to be wasted on desk jobs, and was determined to find more exhibitionistic careers for them, if they insisted on working. She had been appalled at Jane's decision to go into academia instead of modeling or the movies, but even Lizzy she thought quite pretty enough for television. But Lizzy was more than happy with her present position, and was certainly reluctant to cultivate her fawning cousin. Looking around, she saw Jane and Charles waving at someone behind her. She turned around to find Fitz Darcy approaching, with Caroline Bingley in tow a few feet behind. Elizabeth did not know whether to be happy that their arrival would allow her to ignore her cousin, or to be embarrassed that they would be exposed to her family at such a disadvantage. Charles, she could see, was too much in love to care what Jane's family were like, but Jane's position would be pitiable indeed if his sister and his closest friend were constantly to undermine her relations. Even as she greeted them and performed the introductions, she could see them settle into a disapproving silence. And, to compound her embarrassment, her mother would not be silenced. Flagrantly ignoring the introductions, she turned determinedly back to Billy Collins and Elizabeth.
"Billy was just telling me that he could certainly find a job for you as one of the reporters on his team. Now wouldn't that be a marvelous opportunity? Why, who knows, you might even make it to CNN like that Bingley girl!" Here, realizing that Caroline was in fact one of the group, she turned to her and said, "You see, Ms. Bingley, my daughter is such a fan of yours. She never watches anything except CNN."
Caroline, who, knowing Elizabeth, highly doubted the veracity of this claim, and who, moreover, had been more than a little offended by the description of her as "that Bingley girl," just nodded, shortly. Mrs. Bennet continued unabated.
"And now her cousin here was just telling me about this wonderful opportunity for her..."
Elizabeth winced; this was going to be a long and painful evening.
Darcy stood a little apart from the remainder of the group. He had been a little dismayed to find that such a large family party was accompanying Elizabeth; he had been counting on this day as the moment for him to finally come forward and declare his feelings for her. But be that as it may, he was nonetheless determined to make himself a member of the party, so that he might at least enjoy her company. Her relatives, he found, quite distinctive and extremely amusing; as Mrs. Bennet's endless tirade wore on and Elizabeth's features progressively tightened, however, he began to realize that she was more than a little embarrassed by this display. Caught between his own amusement and his consternation on her behalf, he found himself quite unprepared to be drawn into the conversation himself, and replied rather hesitantly when he found himself suddenly addressed by Billy Collins.
"Mr. Darcy, I do believe you are the nephew of Mrs. de Bourgh. I have been doing my research, you see," he said, turning to Elizabeth with an exaggerated air of confidentiality, "for a documentary on the political legacy of the de Bourghs. Mrs. de Bourgh has been most supportive of our efforts; in fact, she'll be hosting our team when we're down in Virginia."
"Yes, she is my aunt."
"I hope that you will not mind sparing us a few moments of your time for our production, Mr. Darcy. Just a short interview, seeing that you are so close a relative, and a former representative yourself."
"Uh, sure, no problem."
Hearing his terse replies, Elizabeth's gloom deepened. He was making it more than obvious just how repulsive he found her family, and they could not even understand it. Then, thinking of Wikham, her gloom turned to outrage, and she wondered, considering his own past, just what right he had to be judgmental of her relatives at all.
Chapter 12
Elizabeth stood at the kitchen counter, supposedly monitoring the oven, but her eye was on the television as she absently flicked through the channels. At her mother's urging, her cousin, Billy Collins, had invited himself to dinner at their apartment. Elizabeth was quite certain that he would take this opportunity to formally make her the job offer he had been hinting at the entire evening in L.A., and she could only hope that a pointed refusal would send him forth on his way again. Grimacing momentarily as she landed on the History Channel and wondered just how Billy had managed to land his job, she looked up as Jane let herself into the apartment, carrying several bags of groceries, as well as several weeks worth of mail, precariously perched on top of a particularly laden bag. Relieving her of some of the load, she started mechanically to sort through and put away the groceries as Jane scanned through the mail.
"Anything in particular you're looking for, Jane? Have you heard about that grant yet?"
"No, I haven't, although it isn't really that.... You know that I don't go to the University that often nowadays because my coursework is done, and I'm working on my research? Well, I haven't seen Charles in a while, so I called the other day, and his voicemail said that he was on sabbatical. I left a message, of course, and I'm wondering if maybe he's gone abroad for a conference or something..."
"So you're looking for a 'Wish you were here!' postcard?"
"Don't be silly, Liz. Well, I am curious, of course, I mean, it didn't really say how long he'd be gone or anything..."
Elizabeth playfully tried to snatch the mail out of her sister's hands, and they played tug-of-war with it for a bit. Then Jane dramatically let go in a gesture of surrender, and the letters went flying through the room, as Elizabeth, unprepared for so rapid a victory, fell back in surprise and couldn't hold on to them. They scrambled to the floor to see who would be able to gather them first, when suddenly Jane sat up, a puzzled look on her face.
"What is it? You look like you've seen a ghost or something!"
"Not exactly. Well, take a look," she said, handing over a postcard, which Elizabeth scanned quickly.
"He's gone? He's spending the entire semester in Hong Kong? And he didn't even bother telling you in person?"
"Lizzy, you're overreacting!"
"I'm overreacting? Jane, believe me, if any boyfriend of mine tried to pull a stunt like this, he'd hear a lot more than this!"
"That's jut the point, isn't it? No matter what you, or Mom, or anyone else says, it's obvious that Charles doesn't want anything more than friendship. I mean, it's my fault that I feel bad about this; I'm sure he didn't mean to be sending the wrong signals." Jane said, making an obvious effort to blink back her tears. Elizabeth backed down, seeing her sister in such a precarious state.
"He wasn't sending the wrong signals, Jane, I've never seen a man so much in love. Maybe he just wasn't sure you were ready yet..."
Jane smiled, wanly.
"Thanks, Lizzy."
"That must be it Jane, I'm sure of it," she said, trying to convince herself as much as her sister. Seeing no response, she went back to collecting the mail strewn around the room. Wading through the miscellaneous advertisements and requests for charitable contributions, she too saw a particular letter and sat up, with a gleam in her eye.
"Jane, how would it be if you were to go to Hong Kong as well?"
"Lizzy, don't be silly!"
"This is it, right?" she said, handing her the letter, "your grant is through, isn't it? It's time to pack your bags!"
And although Jane would not be coaxed into a response, Elizabeth was glad to notice that for the remainder of the evening, Jane would frequently lapse into spells of absent-mindedness, staring into nothingness with a serene smile on her face.
The unfortunate by-product of Jane's distraction, however, was that when Billy Collins arrived for dinner, the onus of making conversation fell upon Elizabeth. Acknowledging his compliments as graciously as possible and deflecting his innuendoes for the duration of an evening was about as much as she could take, and even that she probably would not have been able to manage had she not had the handy excuse of escaping to the kitchen every so often, ostensibly to check on dinner. Still, painfully tedious as the evening was, Elizabeth was firmly conscious that the worst was yet to come, and finally, after he had complimented them extravagantly on a rather mediocre culinary effort by their standards, and Jane had managed to extricate herself to serve coffee, he turned to Elizabeth, and said, in an ingratiatingly confidential tone, "Liz, I'm sure you can guess what I'm about to say, but I just wanted you to know something about how I've come to my decision."
"Billy, it's really not necessary..."
"No, I want you to hear this. You know this is the first time I'm working on an independent project, and I'm really eager that everything goes right. I mean, can you imagine what Catherine de Bourgh would think if something were to go wrong? And I really think we could use someone who could sharpen our script a bit; I'm the first person to admit that it needs a little bit of tweaking. And when your mother told me that you're a journalist, and considering we're family and everything, I started thinking that you might be the right person. But can you guess what finally convinced me?"
"No, Billy, I don't..."
"I knew wouldn't be able to. I had my first interview with Mrs. de Bourgh today. Naturally I had sent her my script so that we could review it, and she was gracious enough to suggest a great many improvements. Then she suggested that I hire a new script-writer, someone from Virginia, who would have a proper idea of the historical context. And of course, I knew that it just had to be you..."
"Billy, thanks for the offer, really, but I'm not in the market for a job change right now..."
"Oh, I know what you're thinking, that it's just a temp. assignment for this project, but let me assure you, if this series is televised, I think I can promise you a permanent place on my production team."
"No, Billy,..."
"And besides, Liz, you have to see wonderful this'll be. I mean, us working so closely together, side by side; I'd really like to get to know you better, Liz," he said, looking at her in such a manner as to make his meaning patently obvious. Elizabeth, repulsed by his lecherous smirk, drew back instinctively, upon which he took a hold of her hand and said, "It's not what you're thinking, Liz, I swear, I didn't mean it like that. I mean, I'll marry you, if that's the way you want it."
"Billy, look, it's not that. I'm really just not looking for a job, and definitely not looking for a relationship right now."
"Don't be silly, Liz, your mother told me how you've never dated anyone since College. And I said I'd marry you eventually. I mean, get real, how many guys are going to tell you up front that they're willing to go all the way?"
"Billy, it's nice of you, but this isn't what I need right now. It's not you; it's me."
"Look, Liz, I know you're just stringing me along like a 'Rules' girl, but hey, I can be a nineties kind of guy. We'll take it the way you want it, then."
"Billy, I said no. This isn't about the 'Rules;' it's about me not needing a relationship right now, ok? This is never going to work out!"
"You'd better watch out there, Liz. I might just begin to believe you."
"Billy, I mean every word I'm saying. Do I have to spell it out for you? I'm not interested in a relationship!"
"OK," he said, holding up his hands in a mock defensive gesture, "if that's how you want it. Look, I like coyness as much as any guy, but I'm not going to let you just string me along like this. Just remember, you're the one who said no."
"Yes, Billy, I did."
He looked at her in astonishment; obviously, his intention had been to get her to recant on her refusals. He held her eyes for a few moments, still expectant; then, suddenly seeing that she meant what she said, he looked away.
"Thanks for dinner, Liz; it's been.... Uh, I should be going now."
And with that, he slunk out, without being able to meet her eye again. By the time Jane came in with the coffee, Elizabeth was caught somewhere between mirth and mortification, and even Jane, who had been monitoring the conversation from the kitchen, and could not but empathize both with her sister and her hapless suitor, was so struck by the hilarity of the exchange as to be unable entirely to restrain her laughter.
Chapter 13
"Liz, you must come. I insist upon it."
"Charlotte, believe me, you wouldn't if you knew what happened!"
"It couldn't possibly have been so terrible. And besides, I'll be leaving in a couple of days now. Come on, Liz! For old time's sake."
"You don't have to leave, Charlotte. I can't believe you accepted that job."
"Liz, I know you can't dream of leaving the Post. Believe me, if I were in your place, I wouldn't either. You're already a bit of a celebrity; your editorials are respected; you're heading towards getting a column of your own. I've been a staff reporter for more than ten years now, Liz. If I were going much further, I'd be there already. And pretty soon I'll have to make place for new blood. I think I'd rather get out while I can still get something somewhere else."
"That isn't true, Charlotte. You're very respected around this office."
"Respected? Oh, yeah! Good old Charlotte. A real sport. She's been out there doing this for years. No, thank you, Liz."
"And what's so much better about Billy Collins's job? I mean, I don't know what he's been telling you, but it was pretty clear it was some kind of a temp. thing."
"He said it would be permanent if the series did ok. I'll take my chances on it."
"If that's what you want, Charlotte. I guess what really got to me was the way he used the job offer to try to come on to me. I guess he learnt his lesson on that one."
"Liz..."
"It was hilarious. He started going on and on about how closely we'd be working together..."
"Liz, listen to me,..."
"...and when I tried to tell him I wasn't interested, he said he'd make an honest woman of me, I mean, as if! And then he went on and on about how I was playing at being a 'Rules' girl."
"Liz, Billy and I are going out. We have been, ever since I've been working on this project. And we're getting married soon. This party of Mrs. de Bourgh's is something of an engagement party for us. That's why I want you to be there."
"Charlotte!"
"Liz, don't look at me like that. We're not in the same boat here. I'm tired of being a single mother. It's time my son had a real family. And Billy is the first man I've come across who's willing to give him that."
Elizabeth swallowed, trying to assimilate what her friend was saying, and wondering if she'd ever be able to make a choice like that. Knowing that Charlotte was not one to decide easily, and that she would be unable to change her mind, she nodded, and spoke more evenly, hoping she sounded suitably supportive.
"Charlotte, if this is the way you want it, congratulations. And of course I'll be there tonight."
"Thank you, Liz. I'll miss you. Heck, I know I'll miss this office."
Elizabeth hugged her, and then, not knowing what more remained to be said, just stood there momentarily. It was Charlotte who broke the slightly awkward pause.
"I'm sure you need to be getting back to work, Liz. I'll just empty out my old desk. I'll see you tonight."
Catherine de Bourgh was the present doyenne of a family with a political tradition quite as strong as that of the Darcys. The de Bourghs had been active in Virginia politics ever since the founding of the Commonwealth, and had also been significant players in the short-lived Confederate government during the Civil War. Catherine's husband, Lewis de Bourgh, had been a member of the House of Representatives, although he had never reached the prominence of her brother-in-law, Senator Darcy. She had been widowed now for several years, and was seen in insider circles as a wannabe Theresa Heinz, in the market for an ambitious husband. But despite her wealth and her willingness to contribute to either party, no she was known to be still unattached. The documentary on the de Bourgh's was a brain-child of hers, and she had hand-picked Billy Collins as a producer over whom she would be able to exercise a suitable degree of control. He had been only too happy after his promotion to cede responsibility, and all things considered, she was quite satisfied with the result. It had been her idea also to make the premier of the show on the History Channel a media event in its own right, and had succeeded in enticing a sufficiently elite crowd. The fact that Billy Collins wanted to use the occasion to announce his engagement she also found appealing; it would render her gala less transparently an advertisement of her own availability and influence.
The party was by now in full swing, and Billy Collins and his fiancee came up to introduce his cousin, Elizabeth Bennet, to her. She recognized the name from the Post, and remembered him saying that he would offer her the job. In retrospect, things had probably worked out for the best. Ms. Bennet was undoubtedly a more elegant writer than her friend and former colleague, but she was also more prone to expressing her own very decided opinions, and would most likely have been far less pliant to work with. She saw Caroline Bingley approaching also, and greeted her pleasantly, happy to have a face as recognizable as hers at the party, but she smoothly introduced her to the happy couple and excused herself, reluctant to allow either Caroline or Elizabeth to pry too deeply into her intentions.
The engagement of an insignificant producer was obviously not the story Caroline was angling for, and after congratulating them in a manner that could hardly be considered cordial, she was preparing to leave the group when Elizabeth addressed her.
"How is Charles? I haven't heard from him in a while."
"He's well," she replied smugly, "perhaps you haven't heard, but he's on sabbatical in Hong Kong."
"I had heard, actually. Will he be staying long?"
"Yes, he's been most warmly welcomed at the University there, and apparently the resources are quite remarkable. Of course, he's a little concerned about his students here, but Fitz and I agree his own work is more important. I always say that for an academic, nothing is more important than to stay on top of the research."
"Fitz... Darcy?"
"Yes, actually, this trip was his idea in the first place. It was an inspired suggestion, I think. Charles is so happy, and then, I will be going down in July for the handover to China. Is the Post sending anyone?"
"I would imagine so."
Elizabeth's reply was a little short. She had known, of course, that Darcy was a friend of Charles's, and Jane had told her that she and Charles had been meeting him quite frequently, but it had never occurred to her that he was behind this sudden disappearance. And while she knew well enough that Caroline would be happy to point to any circumstance on which her views coincide with Darcy's, she would not invent such a story just for her sake. What she had said was undoubtedly true. Still, it was no matter. Fitz Darcy's scheme in separating them, no matter what it was, had evidently been foiled. Jane was in Hong Kong now as well. Researching in the same department on the premises of the same University, they were bound to meet. And at that distance, neither his friend nor his sister would be able to come between them.
When Fitz Darcy stepped into Rosings, his aunt's Alexandria mansion, he knew he was more than a little late, and he was determined to stay for as short a while as he could. She had insisted on his presence, and he had yielded to her wishes with reasonably good grace, but he was more than a little reluctant to be anointed as her political heir. For one thing, he was astute enough to realize that despite her illusions on the matter, her support was virtually meaningless. More importantly, however, he was practically certain that he would no longer remain in politics, and he had no desire to explain his intentions to her, or to stand by and watch if she decided to do something premature like declaring his candidacy for the gubernatorial race. He stayed at the sidelines for a while, observing his aunt's mostly celebrated invitees. Whatever her intentions were, it was fairly obvious that celebrating Billy Collins's engagement did not rank particularly highly among them. Spotting his aunt at a distance, chatting surprisingly graciously with a group of lobbyists, he went up to her and paid his respects, retreating as quickly as he could in his anxiety that she might say too much. His duty done, he stood quietly by once again, wondering how soon it would be acceptable for him to leave.
It was then that he spotted her. She was standing with Billy Collins and Charlotte Lucas, whom he remembered as her friend, and when he caught her eye, she had evidently been looking away in exasperation. He had quite forgotten that they were connected, and had not expected to find her here. Her presence, of course, put a completely different complexion on matters. He would not let another opportunity slip him by. Tonight would be the night.
Suddenly decisive, he made his way towards her, cutting through the swarming crowds with scant apology. But as he neared where she was standing, his courage began to fail him once again, as he wondered how he would approach her. His ruminations, however, were preempted as Charlotte spotted him and invited him to come up and join them. He nodded at her; then, fortifying himself with a deep breath, he made his way over.
When Elizabeth turned around to see whom Charlotte was beckoning, she was surprised to find that it was Fitz Darcy. Only a few moments earlier she had noticed him over at the other end of the room, and she could help wondering why he should have made his way over. Nevertheless, when Charlotte welcomed him into their circle, she greeted him with as much civility as she could muster. Any lack of civility on her part, of course, was more than compensated for by her cousin's obsequious salute, and Elizabeth was privately amused that Darcy should subject himself to such excessive sycophancy.
"Mr. Darcy, I cannot thank you enough for agreeing to record a segment with us. I'm sure it has contributed so much to the unity of the piece. Wouldn't you agree, Charlotte? Charlotte, Mr. Darcy, was responsible for the scripting, and I think you must admit she did a fine job of it, although of course her script could not compare to your off-the-cuff comments for us. I must thank you for your extreme candor in sharing with us your thoughts, your innermost...."
Darcy cut him off, but Elizabeth was a little surprised that he did so with amazingly good grace.
"I was happy to oblige, Mr. Collins. I must congratulate you, on a job well done, as well as on your forthcoming wedding. And you too, Ms. Lucas. I wish you the very best."
"Thank you, Mr. Darcy, it is very generous of you to take note of our little celebration..."
"My dear, I think we must see to the technical arrangements. The show will be airing in just a few minutes, and we must make sure that the screening goes well."
This time it was Charlotte who interrupted him, both from her own reluctance to let him expose himself further and her conviction that Darcy's interest was in her friend, and not her fiancé's follies. At her insistence, they left to see to the screening arrangements, which were already impeccable thanks to Charlotte's prior planning. Darcy and Elizabeth were left alone, and, for a few moments, stood there saying not a word. It was he who broke the silence.
"Mr. Collins seems very happy."
"Yes, it is rather a big day for him. This is the first show he's ever produced, and then there's the engagement and everything,"
"I rather got the impression when we met earlier that he might be offering you a job on the production," he said, tentatively.
"Well, I'm not sure I'd be interested in working on TV. And then, current events has always been my forte, not history."
"Yes, I don't imagine you'd want to get out of Washington politics."
"I don't think I would," she said, wondering if he was alluding to his own retirement, and remembering what Charlotte had once said about him trying to use her to get back in the public eye.
He hesitated slightly, looked away for a moment, then turned back to her and spoke again.
"Ms. Bennet, there's something I must speak to you about. I wonder if you'd care to step outside for a moment? We won't be missed; they'll start the viewing soon, and since Mr. Collins assured me that they'd start with a clip of me, I can assure you that you won't miss much."
She smiled at his self-deprecating reference, and nodded her assent, curious as to his intention. He did not speak any further, but led her outside into carefully manicured lawns, and there he hesitated slightly. Then, seeing her suppress a shiver in the still chilly March air, he started to speak.
"I've been struggling for a while now with how I should tell you this, but the fact is that I've fallen in love with you."
Elizabeth stared at him, unable to fathom quite how she was supposed to respond to his revelation.
"I know it sounds like something a ridiculous teenager would do, and I know that this means I'll have to kiss my career good-bye. But I can't help it. I can't go back into politics and be lonely and miserable for the rest of my life. I'll give it all up if I have to; all I ask is that you and I give it a chance, and see if it doesn't work out. I guess what I'm trying to do here is to ask you if you'd go out with me sometime."
"Is this some kind of crazy strategy you've come up with to use me to get back into politics? I'm afraid I don't date the news!"
"I thought I just told you I've given up politics. I'll give it up for good if need be! This isn't about that."
"How very kind of you. I'm glad to say it won't be necessary!"
"What?"
"I said it won't be necessary. I won't go out with you, and you needn't sacrifice your career over me."
"And may I ask why you summarily reject me?"
"Well, let's see. You just told me that my credentials aren't good enough for a politician's girlfriend. You've obviously done your best to convince your friend that my sister isn't good enough for a professor. And who are you, pray, to be telling me all this? You don't even respect your responsibilities towards your oldest friend and companion."
"Where did that come from?"
"Don't even try and play innocent here. George Wikham's told me everything about you. Just be grateful it hasn't been splashed all over the front pages. At least one of you has some respect for your father's memory!"
"So this is really what you think of me? Or are you just trying to get back at me for what I said earlier? It's perfectly true; I couldn't go back into politics if I were involved with a reporter, and as far as I'm concerned, it is a big sacrifice. You want me to just gloss over it?"
"No, your explicitness really didn't have anything to do with it. I have principles of my own, Mr. Darcy, and I'm not willing to sacrifice them for the sake what you can offer me. You might be able to get away with using other people the way you do, but I won't let you treat me like that."
She saw him wince, and for a moment he just stood there looking at her. Then, recollecting himself, he spoke again.
"I see. Excuse me. Thank you for clarifying everything. I'm sorry to have taken up your time. You'll be wanting to get back to your friends, of course."
With that, he turned away, leaving her to come to terms with what had just happened between them.
Chapter 14
This chapter is a revision of one previously posted.
Darcy walked away with quick steps, which abruptly slowed as he stopped to consider where he was going. He had to leave; motion was less painful than stasis, but was there anywhere for him to go? For the past three months his life had been building up to this one moment; her acquiescence had become the keystone around which he had envisioned his future. He could laugh now at the absurdity of his pondering at length the sacrifices he would have to make for her sake; the restoration of everything around which he had once built his world had now left him entirely hollow, with nothing further to hope for.
He stared at the light streaming out of the French windows, and for a minute he was tempted to return, to lose himself in that throng of people, and not to have to think the thoughts that were now tormenting him relentlessly. But he knew that in that crowd he would not find the company he sought -- the company that would allow him to accept himself. For he knew well that the fault of the matter lay entirely on his side, that he had had no right to impose on her in that abrupt manner, and to declare himself thus without having made the slightest effort to ascertain her views on the matter. And he knew that he had not meant it as she had heard it, but more than that he knew he had said what he ought never have mentioned.
He made his way to the car, and letting himself in, he sat there staring ahead of him. He felt as though there ought to have been some fantastical response to his stupidity, that he deserved some cosmic punishment, that he could endure any act of atonement, but that he could not endure the silence and the emptiness which loomed around him. His fingers turned to the dial of the radio, as he sought any illusion that would dispel his loneliness.
"See the stone set in your eyes
See the thorn twist in your side.
I'll wait for you."
He started the car, and pulled out, eager to leave. Once on the highway, he let himself go in a burst of speed, and, feeling suddenly claustrophobic, he let the hood down. The bracing night air acted almost as a tonic, and suddenly, although the emptiness remained, he knew with certainty that he would be able to go on.
"Sleight of hand and twist of fate
On a bed of nails she makes me wait
And I'll wait without you.
With or without you,
With or without you."
Elizabeth knew not how long she stood there, bewildered at his revelation, but when it obtruded into her consciousness that she stood alone, her immediate thought was to leave. She did not know where he had gone, but she would not admit even the slightest possibility of another encounter. Even now she knew not how she ought to respond to him. She made her way to her car, determined to leave immediately, with barely a passing regret that she would not have the chance to bid Charlotte farewell. She had not allowed herself to imagine any such possibility in years now, and now it had happened, with a degree of melodrama she had never permitted even in her teenage imaginings. She knew not what to make of his feelings, of the fact that he should have come to her now, when she had learnt to despise him, when for so many years she had regarded him with what she was now able to recognize as a thinly veiled version of her teenage crush. For all those years, there could have been no other explanation for the manner in which she had behaved. A press-hound indeed, for all her disclaimers to that title. She had never considered herself anything other than an annoyance to him, and now to learn that he too had come to see it as so much more, now, when her illusions had finally crumbled to nothingness. As she revved up her engines, she saw another vehicle leaving the compound ahead of her, and realized that it was Darcy. It was not until she had found her way on to the Interstate and was heading back to DC that she put on the radio, to purge the words still resounding in her ears.
"Through the storm we reach the shore,
You give it all but I want more.
And I'm waiting for you,
With or without you,
With or without you."
But what he had offered tonight was not enough. It could not have been, regardless of Wikham, or of Jane. He had said that he loved her. But he had made more than obvious that he saw nothing to respect. He might have said he loved her, but he had not been able to say it without telling her that he despised her. And it occurred to her suddenly that something encompassing both those words was what she still felt for him, despite herself.
"I can't live
With or without you."
She had rejected, in no uncertain terms, anything he had had to offer. He had never foreseen any such possibility; he had been planning a life and a future contingent on her acceptance. But looking back, he saw that though every word had stabbed, what he had been least prepared for had been the accusations that she had thrown at him. Was Wikham always to thus obtrude into his life, besmirching everything of any value left to him? Was it still that same misguided motive of revenge, or could there be any more? He shuddered to think of such a possibility.
"And you give yourself away;
And you give yourself away
And you give, and you give,
And you give yourself away."
He thought back on circumstances he had hoped forever to forget, and now saw that they had never adequately been addressed. He thought back also on what he had considered friendly moments, but which now appeared in another, more incriminating, light. And most of all, he thought back on a conversation some minutes ago, and he realized that the last word had not been said.
"My hands are tied,
My body bruised;
She's got me with
Nothing to win and nothing left to lose."
He had to come to terms with the fact that Elizabeth might never return his feelings, and he had to be able to get on with his own life. But this chapter was not yet closed, and it could not be until she knew the truth of the matter. The facts were an inadequate excuse for his behavior, but such as they were, he knew he could not allow her to persist in her present mistaken opinions, even if it involved exposing matters he had hoped never to have to reveal.
"And you give yourself away;
And you give yourself away
And you give, And you give,
And you give yourself away."
This much he had to do, for the feelings he knew he would harbor always for her. And after that, he would have to get used to his loneliness all over again.
"With or without you,
With or without you.
I can't live
With or without you."
The following morning, when Elizabeth came into work, she found, among a pile of other inconsequential correspondence, a letter addressed to her from Fitzwilliam Darcy. She could not imagine what he might have to say to her after the terms in which she had addressed him the previous night, but she was certainly curious to find out. Setting her work aside for the moment, she immediately tore open the envelope, and started to read.
Ms. Bennet,I quite realize that after last night you probably have very little desire to hear from or of me again, but there were some matters brought up in our conversation that I feel compelled to clarify. You and I have stood at a similar juncture often enough before, albeit on more neutral territory, and each time, I have availed of the opportunity to defend myself. I make no claim to holding your interest, but I do appeal to your sense of justice to allow me a fair hearing once again. In the course of this narrative, I will have to cover ground you might find distasteful; for this I apologize.
Two matters in particular I would like to elaborate on, which we touched on, and on which I fear you might have formed mistaken ideas of my opinions. The first is the matter of my friend and your sister. When Charles introduced me to your sister, it was plainly obvious to me that he was head over heels in love with her. Your sister, for her part, was uniformly friendly, but I could detect no sign that she was emotionally involved to a like degree. Subsequent meetings with them both only confirmed my opinions, though your reaction leads me to believe that I might have been mistaken. I admit freely that I attempted to dissuade him from pursuing her at present. My concern was that, given her subordinate position to him at the University, she might feel pressured to enter into a relationship prematurely. Moreover, I've known Charles ever since we were at College together, and in all that time, he has never successfully sustained a relationship for more than a few months, mainly because his interest generally strays fairly rapidly. Were a relationship between him and your sister to likewise fail, her position at the University would most undoubtedly become somewhat awkward. I suggested to Charles that he wait until she had obtained her Ph.D., so that none of these issues could cloud their prospects. I will admit that I have never found him so reluctant to take it slowly. It was for this reason that I suggested that he go abroad, to put some space in between them, and to test the strength of his feelings. He will be returning in a few months, by which time your sister will presumably have submitted her dissertation, and found herself an independent position. If their feelings are then conducive, I would not presume to come in between them. I realize that you have cause to resent the fact of my interference in your sister's affairs, but I hope you will believe that it was done with the best of intentions.
The other matter I must address is that of George Wikham. I do not know how well you think you know him, nor what version of the facts he has given you, but I can only contradict him by laying the entirety of our history before you. I think you will know that George's father was my father's campaign manager. We grew up together, although I began to realize when we were teenagers that his habits were such that we could never be really close. My father, who could not know him as well as I, always thought well of him, and was particularly impressed by his aptitude with all the cars in our sizable garage; my father was a connoisseur of cars. He was convinced, correctly, that George's mediocre grades were a result of misapplication rather than a lack of ability, and it was at his recommendation that George was admitted to William and Mary. Even there, though, his habits cannot have changed, and one year, when I was home for Christmas, and when my father was preparing to run for President, I got a call from him. He had been apprehended with a prostitute in one of my father's cars, and he wanted me to come bail him out. This of course I could have done, but I was anxious to see that none of this reflected back on my father in whose name the car was registered, and for this reason, I called his campaign manager, who happened, of course, to be George's father. Through his contacts, he was able prevent the matter from being picked up by the newspapers. George, of course, was furious that I had brought his father into it. Later that year, my parents and his father were killed in a car crash. The following year, when he graduated, George came to me again, this time demanding that I exert the influence of my family's substantial endowment before the admissions committee for the Law School at U.Va. and induce them to overlook the arrest on his record. Given his grade transcript, he had no chance of admission quite apart from the arrest, and I was quick to tell him that I had no intention of interceding on his behalf, especially given that at the time I was a student there myself. After this, he disappeared from my life, and I did not expect ever to encounter him again. It was not until last year, when I was running for the Senate, that he reappeared, under very unpleasant circumstances. What I will now relate to you remains a subject of speculation in the public realm, and I must ask you to keep these particulars off the record. Pemberley, our family plantation, is maintained and restored by a not-for-profit organization administered by a board, on which my sister, Georgiana and I both sit. The funds, which are augmented by family money and outside contributions, have generally been controlled by the family, and while I was in office, the responsibility was Georgiana's. Last year, Wikham came to her, offering a hefty contribution from his firm. He represented himself as an employee of Kraft, which of course is a Phillip-Morris subsidiary. Georgiana, who remembered him as an old family friend, and knew nothing of his subsequent history, was happy to accept, and I did not learn of the transaction until after it was completed. As a board member, I am extremely closely associated with the Pemberley Fund. A contribution from a big tobacco firm, especially in an election year, would undoubtedly have compromised my stance. It was Wikham himself who brought the matter to my notice, while ostensibly persuading me to introduce legislation that he knew I would never have considered endorsing, insinuating that should I refrain, he would make the matter publicly known, representing it as a scheme for me to channel the funds underhandedly. Moreover, he would not allow me to return the money without similarly publicizing the already completed transaction. Under the circumstances, I had no alternative but to withdraw from the Senate race. The money was subsequently returned, but because I had withdrawn from the race and would be out of office at the end of the year, he had in this case no motive to make the matter public.
This is a complete account of my dealings with George Wikham, and I should be happy provide the requisite documentation for you, should you require it. This is all the justification I have to provide for my actions, but there is another small point which I should like to be allowed to clarify. It is my firm belief, and one that I think you concur with, that a personal involvement between members of our respective professions constitutes a questionable alliance, given the scope for a conflict of interests. It was to this professional affiliation that I alluded yesterday; it was most certainly not intended to be taken as a personal reflection. Be that as it may, I accept your verdict, and will trouble you no further with my own wishes.
Yours sincerely,
Fitzwilliam Darcy.
Elizabeth, who was prepared to be entirely skeptical of Darcy's defence, found herself gradually disarmed by his admissions. Initially, she was unwilling to accept his rendition of his role in breaking up Jane and Charles, but when she got to the narrative about Wikham, she was astonished to find the degree to which the stories concurred. As she thought about it, she was forced to concede that Darcy's was the more convincing account; despite George's claim, it was no easy task to represent oneself falsely to the police, and the record in both cases was in George's name. It was when she reached the account of Darcy's withdrawal from the Senate race that she was forced to believe him; she began to see how the matter would have been represented in the press had it been made public. She saw also why in all her researches she had never succeeded in uncovering the facts; the financing of the campaign itself she had examined thoroughly, but she had never thought to investigate the Pemberley fund. She remembered her own misgivings about George's employers, and was mortified at having credited his extremely convoluted account at face value. Then she returned to the part about Charles and Jane, and was forced to conclude that his interference there had been more considerate than otherwise. But it was when she reached the end of the letter that she was thoroughly ashamed of her reaction to him; what she had taken as a slur was a compliment of the highest kind; he had offered to sacrifice his own career in order not to compromise hers. All the feelings she had fought for years to repress came back to her in a flood, and she wondered whether, having insulted him openly, it was now too late to make amends. Whatever the awkwardness involved, she would be willing to undergo it, to let him know that she knew better now. She checked the envelope for a return address, and she wondered how she could contrive a meeting.
She was interrupted, however, in her preoccupation, by one of her colleagues.
"What's up, Liz? You're looking a little frazzled. I guess you've heard the news, huh? You're back in business, girl!"
"What?"
"Didn't you hear? Fitz Darcy's back. He finally announced at a press conference today that he's contesting the primaries for the gubernatorial race!"